


John, I Had An Idea

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunk John and Sherlock, Edging, Experiments, Explicit Sexual Content, Intimacy, Kink, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Porn, Restraint, Toys, Voyeurism, mirror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:25:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4364756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One drunken experience triggers Sherlock's sexual imagination, and suddenly he can't stop coming up with new experiments for them to try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock Has An Idea

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Their client had given them a bottle of rather expensive wine so it had seemed reasonable to open it once they got home. They both usually enjoyed a little celebration after solving a case, and this one had been particularly rewarding. In addition to the bottle of wine, the client had paid them handsomely, which greatly pleased John, since he'd given up a number of shifts over the two weeks. Sherlock didn't care much about the money; his pleasure came from the fact that he had really struggled with this one. It took forever to even get a hold of an angle -- he hadn't slept properly for so long, staying up for days on end trying to find the clue he knew he was looking past. So when he finally had a breakthrough and was able to prove his theory, he felt almost giddy with satisfaction.

Which probably explained why three hours later, they were both still lying around the sitting room, one empty wine bottle on the floor and another bottle sitting on the table. Sherlock grabbed it and tipped the rest into John's glass. He opened a third bottle and poured some for himself before laying back lazily against the arm of the sofa.

"John," he said, swirling the glass a little and staring at the moving liquid. "Seeing as you're quite drunk and unlikely to remember this, I'd like to offer you an apology. Immediately after we met that client, you suggested adultery. I knew you hadn't really thought carefully about it and I already had it in my head that it was so much more complicated than that, but let's face it, you were right. I mean, obviously you stupidly oversimplified the impressively complicated secrecy of the whole affair, but you were right and I'd like to acknowledge that."

John grinned and giggled as he raised his glass to sip more wine. It took longer than it should have. "I'll remember," he promised, raising his glass to Sherlock. "Never heard that before."

"Well, you'll probably never hear it again," Sherlock said, stretching his legs a bit. "And also, thank you for not pressing your erection against me while we were in that cupboard. I understand your arousal, of course -- it's obviously been a while since you've been with anyone and that couple were . . . quite enthusiastic. But thank you for keeping it to yourself as I don't doubt I would have found it distracting."

"What?" John asked, laughing again. "I didn't have . . . I wasn't -- there was no erection!" Of course, at the moment, he couldn't really remember if he had had one or not. He remembered embarrassment and nerves at being caught maybe. But arousal? He wasn't sure.

"I don't believe you," Sherlock said. "It's entirely natural to be aroused by the sounds of lovemaking even if it was done as an act of betrayal. The sex was, I mean, not your erection." He laughed a little at himself. "And besides, we were spying on them -- a lot of people find voyeurism erotic. Maybe you're one of them." He glanced over at John and wondered. "So I suppose this means you'll be wanking yourself stupid once you go up to your bedroom?"

John was too drunk to be embarrassed. He bit his lip as he grinned and giggled again. "Maybe," he said. "All this talk about voyeurism -- are you planning to watch or something?"

Sherlock thought about that for a moment. He moved his legs a little so his feet just touched the side of John's thigh. "Are you saying you've forgotten how to do it? Do you need some pointers? I do know how it works, you know." He watched the expression on John's face. "Just because I don't spend hours in the shower or evenings chasing potential bed partners doesn't mean I haven't had desires."

John looked over at him, his face and body very warm. He drank more wine. "I can show you how it's done."

"Oh, I know how it's done, John," Sherlock said. "Unlike some people on this sofa, I'm just a bit more discreet. Besides, I've already seen you do it and I think you're doing it wrong." He finished off his glass of wine.

John flushed but grinned. "You have not." 

"You're right," Sherlock said. "I haven't seen it." He closed his eyes. "Though I've imagined it."

"And now what? You want to compare?" John emptied his glass and tipped a little more into it.

"Compare what?" Sherlock asked, his eyes still closed. "Cocks or techniques?" He shifted a hand to rest on his own thigh.

John laughed. "What you've imagined to reality. Though your idea works as well."

"You've already seen my cock," Sherlock said, relatively confident John had taken a peek during one of Sherlock's perhaps too frequent naked walks from the bath to his bedroom. "What did you think?" He'd opened his eyes but still wasn't looking at John. He moved his hand up his leg a bit, sliding it across to his lap.

"I haven't seen yours," John said. "But I have imagined it," he admitted. He looked freely, wondering how big it was, wondering what it looked like compared to his own.

"In its usual or erect state?" Sherlock asked. His hand was now pressing softly against the front of his trousers.

"Erect," John said softly, now palming his own hardening cock.

"I'm hard now, John," Sherlock said, his words sliding out of his mouth almost like a moan.

"Take it out then," John said, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's crotch.

Sherlock looked over at John. His hand moved to his waistband. He popped open the button and slid down the zip, reaching in, and -- perhaps not quite as smoothly as he'd planned -- pulled out his cock. He kept his fingers light against it. "There," he said. "Do you want to see what I do to it?"

John looked. Sherlock's was longer than his own and not quite as thick. It suited him. John palmed himself harder, his jeans obviously bulging now. "Yes," he nodded.

"I need something in my room," Sherlock said, though his hand was already moving in a slow stroke. "Why don't you come in with me so I can show you properly?"

"Okay," John said, draining his glass and finally putting it down. He stood and adjusted himself before following Sherlock.

Sherlock moved quickly into his room, dropping onto the side of the bed near the cabinet. "Why don't you lie down as well?" he said, his hand already back on his cock. "Since you claim watching alone doesn't do it for you, feel free to join me and do whatever it is you normally do." He reached for the drawer and grabbed a bottle of lube. He spilled some into his hand and then set the bottle on the bed next to him. He began a proper stroke now, separating his legs a little and letting his head fall against the pillow.

"I want to watch first," he said, eyes glued to Sherlock's hand as it moved. He knelt at the end of the bed to watch properly.

"I thought you said voyeurism wasn't your thing," Sherlock huffed out. "Or is this a special case?" His breath was already ready rough, and he knew he was relatively close to coming. He tried to calm his body a bit, wondering what was going on in John's brain and whether or not he'd actually do it as well.

"You're fascinating," John breathed, eyes fixed on the come leaking out.

Sherlock thought that was an odd word to choose, but there was something about John's voice that seemed to go straight to his cock. A few moments later, he felt the tightness in his groin and his hand sped up and then he was coming, milking his cock as he coughed out a few loud gasps. He felt the warm come on his fingers, and he made a few slow strokes spreading it over him. Then he let his hand fall to his side and tried to catch his breath.

John had never seen anything so beautiful. Sherlock's face was slack in pure pleasure, his cock spilling over his beautiful hand, and that deep voice moaning even more deeply. If he was aroused before, he was positively lost to desire now. He crawled on his knees beside Sherlock and lay down, fishing his own cock out. He put lube into his hand and started stroking, using just his fingers at first before he gripped hard and fast.

Sherlock stayed flat on his back but turned his head to the side to watch John. His brain felt quite muddled from everything. He looked down to watch John's hand but then focused on his face, watching the slight changes as John stroked himself.

John lowered the leg on Sherlock's side so he could see better, slowing his hand a bit for a harder tug on his cock, his thumb teasing the tip. His breath hitched and he moaned softly.

Sherlock let his eyes close for a moment, just listening to John's sounds. He didn't change his position, but he lifted his hand to rest softly on his chest. He opened his eyes again and, for some reason, whispered John's name.

John moaned softly at the sound of his name being whispered like that. It propelled him so much closer to his orgasm. He sped up his hand, bucked lightly off of the bed, and then came into his hand, biting his lip hard to keep from calling out.

Sherlock exhaled slowly at John's orgasm. He waited a few moments and then sat up a bit on the bed. He took off his shirt and trousers and slid under the covers, turning on his side away from John. "Sleep here," he said. "But you have work tomorrow so set your alarm. And wake me up before you go as I am going to have an incredibly horrible headache and will need some tablets."

"Aren't you going to discuss your notes?" John asked as he slipped out of his own clothes and got into bed. He was going to be miserable in the morning but at the moment, he felt really good.

"Not tonight," Sherlock said. "I'm drunk and incredibly tired." He pressed his face further into the pillow and let his eyes close. "Night, John."

John set his alarm, wondering what either of them would remember of this in the morning. "Night Sherlock," he said, tugging the covers up and letting sleep take him.


	2. The Voyeurism Idea

Sherlock heard John come in downstairs. He was sitting on his chair, waiting. "You look terrible," he said, as John entered the flat. "You should go take a shower."

"It's great to see you, too," John said sarcastically as he hung up his jacket.

"You're welcome," Sherlock said. "I'm just trying to be sensitive. I've got something for us to work on and I just thought you might like to be more comfortable before we get started." He stood up and put the kettle on.

"What is it?" John asked. That was always an important question with Sherlock because lord knew what he had in mind.

"I had an idea earlier and I'd just like to test it out," Sherlock said. "There will be plenty of time for questions later, but I'd like to get started. I've been waiting around all day and have been bored to death. Go shower, okay, and I'll meet you in my room." He turned back to the worktop, getting two mugs out and dropping a tea bag into each. 

John sighed heavily and did as Sherlock asked. Sometimes that was another thing with Sherlock -- it was easier to just go along with him. He took a quick shower and put on pajamas before meeting Sherlock in his room. 

Sherlock had set a mug of tea on the table on each side of the bed. He was sitting up on one side, with his dressing gown still on. The curtains were pulled so there wasn't much light in the room, but it wasn't so dark that they couldn't see. Sherlock's laptop was at the foot of the bed. "Come sit down, John," Sherlock said.

John looked around the room before walking in properly and sitting on the bed. He glanced at the computer. "What's going on?" he asked again, sipping at his tea after sniffing it. Was he about to be drugged?

"I was thinking about the other night when you told me that voyeurism did nothing for you," Sherlock said. "I don't believe you. So I've devised a little experiment -- purely for scientific reasons, of course, and because I don't have anything else to work on and was therefore bored. It's relatively simple: all you need to do is watch and if nothing happens, then I've been proven wrong and the experiment is over."

John was immediately sceptical. "And . . . what am I watching exactly? Porn?" he asked, glancing at the computer. "Because that's not the same thing."

"It is too the same thing, well…practically," Sherlock said. He reached over and pulled the laptop closer. "I've chosen very carefully, basing my selection on what I know of your preferences from dating choices and . . . your forgetting to delete your browsing history." He opened a window on the screen and angled it so John could see. "I can't very well get someone in here to have sex in front of you, can I? This will work just fine. Do you want me to move over to the chair? I don't want my presence to influence the results."

"It's not the same," John grumbled again.

"Fine, then if you'd prefer to just admit you're a voyeur, we can end the experiment right now," Sherlock said. He turned away a little and picked up his mug to take a sip before setting it back down. "Is that what you want then? To ruin my whole day's work?" he asked without turning back around.

"I didn't mean . . . I just -- I'm not sure this is the best way to find out whatever it is you think you're going to find out," John said, his voice getting weaker and weaker. Damn Sherlock and his childish guilt trips.

"As I said, what I'm trying to find out is if you find voyeurism erotic," Sherlock said, standing up. "Fine, I'll go find two strangers who'll be willing to fuck in front of you if that's the only way to get an accurate result . . ."

"Settle down!" John shouted back. He took a deep breath. "Fine. We can do it this way. Go on with your experiment."

Sherlock wasn't even sure why he'd found this idea so intriguing earlier -- whether it was pure boredom or something else -- but he didn't want to give up on it now. He sat down again, going back into research mode. "Voyeurism is experiencing sexual pleasure from watching other people engaged in intimate behaviour, especially if the observer is a stranger to those being observed. Once the video begins, you should tell me immediately if you recognise the people -- if you do, they are not strangers and the experiment is over. There are three videos to watch, so if you plan to deliberately refrain from getting aroused, you'll will have to do so for at least 22 minutes and you should know that each video is more . . . involved than the previous. I am here purely to conduct the research and will be asking a series of questions once the experiment is over. Do you have any questions before we begin?"

John moved back against the headboard and got more comfortable. "No, I think I understand the rules," he said.

"All right," Sherlock said. He pulled the laptop closer. "The videos will play automatically with twenty seconds in between in case you need to take a drink or anything. Just relax. I won't take notes or anything," he added, starting the first video and sitting back against the headboard.

John watched as the video started. It seemed pretty normal, just a man and a woman together, a cheesy plot line about him being there to fix the washer or something. It was awkward with Sherlock watching him, but it was pretty sexy once they properly got to it.

Sherlock didn't watch the video -- obviously, he'd already seen it and it didn't do much for him in the arousal department. Instead he watched John until he realised that might be off-putting and disrupt the results. So he turned his head in an obvious way so John didn't get paranoid, but shifted his body slightly so the angle meant he could still keep an eye on John's reactions.

When the first video ended, John felt warm and wondered what the next one was. When it started it was pretty normal as well, but it was two men. One was blonde and the other dark haired and John wondered if Sherlock had done that on purpose. He was thinking about the two of them now, about what they'd done when they'd been drunk the other night, and he was getting hard. Did it still count if it was because of what he was picturing in his head? He didn't say anything.

"Need a drink or a break?" Sherlock asked quietly. "Either is allowed."

John shook his head, watching the video intently. He knew how it all worked, of course, but it was interesting to actually see it happening. He hadn't ever seen it properly before.

Sherlock could tell that John was studying the video, and he wondered if perhaps that was changing his response. He couldn't really see if John had an erection, and he kind of regretted darkening the room. "Just relax," he whispered, though he wasn't sure why he wasn't using his usual voice. "You're about half way through."

"I am relaxed," John said before worrying that he sounded too defensive. When both guys in the video finished, John bit his lip, looking away from the screen for a second before glancing back.

When the last video started it was two men again, another blonde with a different brunette. John glanced at Sherlock and wondered about this repeating theme. Then things were happening very fast -- rough kisses and tearing at clothes and pushing into walls -- John couldn't take his eyes off the screen. One of them was pushed over the table in the kitchen, grinning as he was teased and teased before the other finally pushed into him. "God . . ." he muttered softly, palming his cock again.

Sherlock exhaled. "Does that mean the experiment is over?" he asked. "Or are you holding out until the end?" He glanced at the screen and added, "Which will be in about forty seconds."

John didn't answer. He watched as they pushed against the table, grunting and shouting in pleasure. John licked his lips and looked down at the bed again as soon as it ended. Why did he let Sherlock put him in these situations?

"Do you need a moment or can I begin my questioning?" Sherlock asked. Somehow he had moved a little down the bed and the two of them were kind of lying next to each other.

"You can start," John said, keeping his eyes on the blank computer screen.

"Are you aroused?" Sherlock asked bluntly.

"Yes," John said.

"On a scale of 1-10, where would you rate your erection -- use decimal points if necessary," Sherlock said.

John shrugged and shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know, Sherlock. It's just . . . I'm hard, all right?"

"You need a reference point," Sherlock said. He reached over and took John's hand, sliding it inside Sherlock's pajama bottoms. "I'd say this is a 3, 3.1 maybe," he said softly. "I didn't find the videos particularly arousing, but you know how I feel about experiments." He left John's hand where it was and then reached over into John's pajamas. "Yours is much closer to an 8, I'd say. Of course, I've never felt it fully erect, so I'm only estimating," he added. Then he realised he'd started to stroke John's cock. His body moved a little closer to John's, his hand stroking him slowly but firmly. Sherlock could feel his own cock getting stiffer.

John flushed when Sherlock made him touch his erection, surprised Sherlock also had one. And then Sherlock was touching him, really stroking, and John forgot all about any embarrassment. "Sherlock," he murmured. "If you keep that up . . ." He left his hand where Sherlock had left it, his fingers moving lightly. 

"Shhh," Sherlock exhaled. He kept stroking him, placing his other hand flat on John's chest. He let his hips move against John's hand, encouraging him. "Did you like watching those strangers?" he asked, his voice quite breathy.

John squeezed his eyes shut as his body responded to Sherlock's. He nodded. "It was sexy . . ."

"And the sounds? Did you like the sounds?" Sherlock asked. He dropped his head down a little, burying his face between John's shoulder and the pillow.

John moaned softly and nodded. "I did."

"I like the sounds you're making right now," Sherlock said. His grip tightened a little in response to the movement of John's body. He felt his heart race and tension start to pulse through his veins, so he let his own hips move more freely against John's hand.

"You're making me . . ." John huffed out. "You're making me make these sounds."

Now Sherlock let a small moan escape from his throat. He was so close to exploding -- not thinking about the videos at all, but only of the sounds and movements he and John were making. "I'm going to come, John," he mumbled and then his cock jerked in John's hand, spraying their bellies and the bed between them.

"Fuck," John swore softly, watching as long as he could before his own orgasm made it impossible. He whined softly as he came between them.

Sherlock let his hand fall onto the wetness on the bed but kept the rest of himself still as they both tried to catch their breaths. After a few moments, he rolled flat onto his back, wiping himself with his dressing gown and tying up his pajama bottoms. "Do you know what we learned today, John?" he asked.

John sighed heavily as he tried to get his breathing in check. "That I'm into voyeurism after all?" he asked, trying to clean himself up a bit with the tissues on the bedside table. 

"It's worse than that, I'm afraid. Yes, we learned that you are a voyeur, which is a form of sexual deviancy. We also learned that I, on the other hand, am turned on by touching and being touched by an attractive man. And that, John Watson, is one hundred percent _not_ abnormal," Sherlock said. He turned to look at John and smiled. "I am the normal one here, you filthy, little pervert." He laughed a little and pushed himself up to sit up.

John rolled his eyes. "You can't bombard me with porn and then bring me off only to call me a pervert!"

"I can too," Sherlock said. "Because I just did." He stood up and took a sip of his now cold tea. "Don't you have dinner to make or something?" he asked, with a cheeky smile on his face.

"You don't want my pervert hands all over it. Call something in. And it's your treat for all the trouble I've gone through," John grinned.

"Fine," said Sherlock. "But you're doing the washing up because I'm the one whose bed is covered in come. I'm the victim here, you pervert." Sherlock slipped off his dressing gown and threw it at John, before turning and leaving the room.

"I'm the one being experimented on!" John called after him with a laugh. He covered himself with the dressing gown and stayed on Sherlock's bed.

When the food arrived, Sherlock went to the bedroom door. "Don't try to use the 'too exhausted to get up' excuse on me," he said. "You're not the only one who spilled his seed tonight, John Watson, so get your lazy arse up and come eat this dinner." He smiled as John pulled himself off the bed, and they went out to the table to eat.


	3. The Edging Idea

Sherlock had woken up a few hours ago. He thought he'd been having a sex dream, but couldn't remember the details. But on the rare occasions when he'd had morning erections in the past, unremembered sex dreams were the usual the cause. He had gone to make himself a cup of tea, and laid back down on the bed to read and wait it out.

After a little while, it was almost gone and he realised he felt a strange pride over that fact. Part of this he knew was purely because he was rather self-centered and immature, feeling like he should win a prize simply because he had the willpower to overcome physical needs or desires. That didn't bother him though. He knew being able to control himself was a pretty impressive feat.

And one that John Watson was unlikely to be able to do. Sherlock thought about John and what he knew about his masturbatory habits. John Watson could never stop himself, like Sherlock had done this morning. John Watson did not have the control that Sherlock had. Which made Sherlock start to think.

He stayed in bed until he heard John start moving about in the kitchen. Then he waited long enough for the kettle to boil -- he might as well get a cup of tea out of this as well -- and then shouted, "John, I had an idea -- can you come in here for a moment and bring some tea?"

John heard the shout and felt his stomach flip. Was this going to another experiment? He poured them each a mug and made his way into Sherlock's room. "Yes?" he said as he sat on the bed.

Sherlock took a sip of tea and nodded his thanks. "Willpower's kind of an interesting topic, don't you think?" he said lightly.

John looked over at him. "Yes, I suppose it is," he said, wondering what he had in mind. Sherlock had already tried checking if John could avoid an erection. Actually, now that John thought about it, that wasn't really what it had been about at all. He had a feeling that's what this would be.

"Do you think you'd like to lie down here on the bed while we . . . discuss it?" Sherlock asked.

John smiled softly. He still pretended like he didn't know what was coming next. He hoped Sherlock couldn't tell -- Sherlock seemed to quite enjoy being clever about all this. It was kind of sweet in a weird way. He set his mug down and lay down, getting comfortable.

"Cock out, please," Sherlock instructed.

John flushed with surprise and grinned, pushing down his pajamas to expose his cock. "What's the plan, I mean, experiment?"

"To test your willpower obviously," Sherlock said, moving next to John. He leaned over John's waist and wrapped his fingers around his cock. "No coming. No matter what. Tell me the very second before and I'll stop. But do not come, John Watson, or you'll be admitting you have no willpower." He started moving his hand on John.

John watched Sherlock's face as he was speaking. This would be interesting. He was already getting hard. He didn't know if it was the thought of the game, the orders Sherlock was giving him, or the simple fact that Sherlock was touching him. "Okay," he nodded. 

"I'll be asking a few question during," Sherlock clarified as he continued to stroke John. "Answer them but if it any point you get too close, interrupt me so I can stop." He looked down at John's face to make sure he understood and then turned his attention to what his hand was doing. It was the first time he'd really seen John's cock in this state, and it was quite sexy. "Do you like it slow like this or faster like this?" he asked, giving John a taste of each.

"Slow for the beginning," John murmured. He was still watching Sherlock watching him. 

Sherlock slowed his hand. "Need lube?" he asked. "This may take a while, actually, so it might be wise." He turned and leaned towards his bedside cabinet.

John nodded. When Sherlock leaned over to reach for the lube, his neck stretched fully, and John was surprised when he felt a desire to lean up and devour him. He needed to stop thinking like that or the experiment would be over before it really began.

Sherlock poured some lube into his hand and went back to stroking John. "There," he said softly. "That feels nice and smooth." He watched his hand for a few minutes, listening to John's breathing pattern. Without turning his head, he said, "Do you like talking during sex, John?"

John nodded. "It depends on the talk," he answered. His eyes moved to Sherlock's lips, and he imagined them saying filthy things. He squirmed a bit under his hand. 

"Do you do the talking or does she?" Sherlock asked.

"Both. It depends," he said, and now his voice was breathy. 

"Does she tell you what a big cock you have? Is that the kind of thing you like to hear? Or is it more about your skills at lovemaking?"

John closed his eyes and moaned softly, nodding his head even though it wasn't a yes or no question. 

"Are you good at sex, John?" Sherlock asked. "Do you make them shout out in pleasure? Do you shout, John? I've heard some of your noises . . . I wonder if I'll ever hear you shout." His stroke sped up just a little, becoming firmer as well. He lowered his other hand to John's chest, sliding it under his t-shirt to rest a fingertip on one of John's nipples.

"Maybe one day, but not during this experiment," John said. His back arched off of the bed a bit, and his chest pushed against Sherlock's hand. He was already getting close now, the heat and tension coiling in his groin. "Sherlock . . ."

"Are you telling me to stop, John? Because I don't want to stop, I want you to come -- I want to hear you shout out," Sherlock said. "Are you close, John? Are you going to come?"  
  
John thought about saying no, but Sherlock's hand was still moving and he knew he was too close. "Yes -- stop," he gasped.

"I don't want to," Sherlock said, his voice a low moan as he stroked a few more times. Then he quickly let go of John and shifted his body a little away from him. "Impressive," he said quietly. "Calm yourself down now."

John huffed out a heavy breath, closing his eyes and thinking about a hundred other things -- annoying patients, gross body parts in the fridge, anything. The tension uncoiled a bit, and his breathing steadied.

"Ready to go again?" Sherlock asked. "Once doesn't prove anything." He smiled cheekily at John and moved back nearer to his body.

John took another deep breath and nodded.

This time Sherlock moved between John's legs. He didn't touch his cock at all, but instead started massaging the muscles of his calves. He moved his hands slowly up John's legs, rubbing his thighs. "You're quite muscular," he said. "No wonder you've got good stamina." He let his thumbs move inwards on John's legs, a little higher. "John," he said, letting his name slip slowly from his lips. "Have you ever fucked a man?"

"Stop," John moaned, twisting away from Sherlock. The touching was too sensual, too sexy. Almost intolerable. And then the words almost pushed him right over. He didn't answer, his eyes closed tightly as he tried to breathe more regularly.

Sherlock moved away immediately as he'd agreed to do. "Already?" he asked softly. "Is the experiment over?"  
  
John flushed and rubbed a hand hard over his face and was quiet for a few moments. "Your call," he finally mumbled. "But I haven't come yet . . ."

"John," Sherlock said. "If we keep going, you're not going to come. I'm going to keep taking you to the edge but you're not going to come." He looked slowly up John's body. "Should we keep going?"

"I've already proven I can do it -- I've got willpower. When . . . how long does this go on?" John asked softly.

Sherlock looked up at him. "Until I say it stops," he said.

John took three more deep breaths and then said, "Okay." This was a lot more intense than he'd anticipated.

Sherlock moved closer. He reached over and held John's cock again, not moving his hand yet. "Your skin's warm," he said. "So is mine," he added. He kept one hand on John, but slid the other one inside his own pajama bottoms. He looked over at John. "Warm," he repeated and then said, "Watch." He closed his eyes and started to stroke himself slowly.

John kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock, the tension coiling immediately.

Sherlock felt the reaction in John's body, and considered mentioning John's voyeuristic tendencies. But he himself couldn't deny that watching what he was doing to John was arousing him, obviously. He opened his eyes and slid his hand from his own cock to hold John's wrist. He shifted and turned to look at John's cock. He started a slow stroke. He bent down a little, moving his face closer. "If I told you to come right now, could you? Don't do it -- just answer the question," he said, still stroking him.

John nodded. "Yes, I could," he moaned softly.

Interesting. "Do you want me to let go of your wrist?" Sherlock asked. His hand on John's cock moved a little faster.

John shook his head. He hadn't even realised he was being held but now he could feel it. His eyes rolled back a bit. "M'close," he mumbled. It was happening faster and faster now.

"Close enough to tell me to stop?" Sherlock asked, but didn't stop.

John nodded. It was starting to feel exhausting, but he didn't want the experiment to totally end.

After a few more strokes, Sherlock let go of John's cock, but kept gripping his wrist. He sat up a little without moving totally away as he had done last time. "I'll be honest, John," he said in a calming voice. "I'm surprised you've lasted this long." He glanced over at him and gave him a quick smile. "You are definitely an intriguing case study to experiment on."

John huffed a breathless laugh and smiled. He liked surprising Sherlock. "That's because you underestimated me," he teased.

"Perhaps I have," Sherlock said. He slid his hand across his lap -- despite his stroking himself earlier, his own erection had subsided a bit, but he still felt pleasantly warm and surprisingly comfortable. "Have you calmed down now? Should we carry on?"

John took another deep breath. "We can carry on," he said.

Sherlock was still holding John's wrist. With his other hand he held John's cock again. It was still hard, dark and hot. Sherlock leaned over him, studying his hand as it moved steadily, up and down John's length. There was still enough lube that it moved easily. He did not stop to think just how easily he found doing this.

John was aching now, but he liked it. Actually, it felt quite incredible. Sherlock was really good at this.

Sherlock glanced at John's chest, watching it rise and fall. He knew John was struggling to hold on -- it was admirable really. Sherlock twisted his hand on John's wrist a little, sliding it down so their palms pressed together. He closed his fingers around John's so they were holding hands.

After a moment or two, Sherlock leaned in even closer and quickly flicked his tongue against his hand on John's cock. It didn't even touch John's skin -- it only touched his own hand. He inhaled the smell of sex and exhaled slowly, letting his breath touch where his tongue hadn't. Then he pressed his cheek against his hand, moving his head with his hand's movement -- still not actually touching John. He looked over at John's face. "Watch," he said. His head moved up and down as it would if he were sucking John's cock, but he wasn't. Only his hand touched John.

Holding Sherlock's hand felt more intimate than he'd expected, but John didn't have much time to think about that because Sherlock's breath had him clawing at the bed. "Fuck," he gasped, his stomach caving in with the pressure to hold on. Sherlock said to look but John couldn't. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm so close to it, John," Sherlock whispered. "I'm so close . . . I could taste . . ." He turned his head, moving his tongue over his hand, pressing it between his first two fingers. He exhaled heavily again on John's tip and then moved his head back a bit, stroking hard and fast again. His hand in John's squeezed tightly.

"Stop, stop, stop," John moaned, trying to twist away from him. Would it matter if he came? He wanted to so badly.

"If I let you come John, are you going to call out?" Sherlock purred, still moving his hand. "Are you going to shout my name?"

John whined softly and nodded. "Yes . . . please," he begged.

"You've done well, John," Sherlock said. "I'd say this was a tremendously successful experiment. You can finish now." His hand moved faster and firmer. "But I want to hear, John, I want to hear my name."

John shivered and let go. It was like a dam breaking. His breath caught as the force made his eyes roll back. When the breath broke free he shouted, moaning Sherlock's name over and over as he came.

Sherlock stayed with him as John's body moved, before dropping his hand and sitting silently for a moment. "I quite liked that," he said softly, getting up for the bed and moving over to the side.

"Don't -- don't go," John said. He flushed at his own request, but he couldn't help it.

"Where would I go?" Sherlock asked. He tossed John a box of tissues and said, "Here. Move over a bit." He pushed on John's arm and then pulled down the covers and slid under them. "You should rest for a bit," he mumbled. "Then we can get up and start the day."

John closed his eyes and was still trying to catch his breath. He'd never felt anything so intense in his life.


	4. The Restraint Idea

John had been working evenings the past few weeks. Or at least that's what he'd told Sherlock. As Sherlock lay on the sofa, bored out of his brain again, he started to wonder if John had been lying. Where was he going? What was he doing? And why was Sherlock being excluded? He wanted to know.

He got up and went to John's room, stepping in and looking around. He thought about looking through his desk drawers, but Sherlock knew that was a line not to cross. Which was strange as thanks to Sherlock's recent experiments, together they'd crossed quite a few lines. Sherlock smiled a little. He went back downstairs and picked up his phone.

_Are you really at work? SH_

_Of course I am. -JW_

He didn't add anything else. He was curious about where this was coming from, but he was sure that Sherlock would reveal more if he remained vague himself.

_Why aren't you here? I find your recent choices unacceptable. SH_

_I still have to work, Sherlock. It's not like we had a case of anything. -JW_

Sherlock did not find that acceptable either.

_When will you be home? SH_

_It's pretty busy. Probably around five. -JW_

_Fine. I will work to make my mood less sour by the time you return. SH_

Sherlock smiled at himself. He went into his bedroom and lay down on the bed. He thought about the last experiment, the things he'd done and the things he hadn't. He got lost in remembering for a little while. Then he got up and dug around in his desk drawer until he found what he was looking for. He got everything prepared and went back out to the kitchen, opening up the newspaper, to wait from John to come home.

The last couple hours were the most hectic, probably because John wanted to go home so badly. Sherlock had seemed to let it all go without too much pouting so that left John very curious. When he finished he took a cab home, picking up dinner on the way. "Hello?" he called as he came in.

"Hello, John," Sherlock said. He saw the food in John's hand so he stood to get out plates. "I hope work wasn't too horrible for you," he said, setting them down on the table.

"It was pretty busy. I'm just glad it's over," he said. "I'm starving."

"I don't think they treat you very well," Sherlock said.

"Who? The patients?" John asked, looking over at him.

"Um, just everyone," Sherlock said. "But you keep going back, don't you? Because you don't feel you can say no and you don't want to let anyone down."

"I keep going back because we need money for food. And they don't treat me that badly," John said. His Chinese was extra good tonight.

"See? You go back to a place where you treated terribly, just because of me," Sherlock said, fiddling with his food a bit. "You are a people pleaser, John Watson," he added.

"Sherlock . . . what's wrong? I'm not doing anything 'because' of you."

"Okay, all right," Sherlock said. "Don't get yourself all worked up. You're home now . . . you're supposed to be relaxing. You don't always have to be in control, you know -- sometimes it's all right to just . . . relax, okay?"

"I'm not worked up! I thought you were sad or something," John said, going back to his meal. "I'm relaxed."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "Are you?" he asked quietly. "Are you really relaxed or are you just saying that?"

John stopped eating again. "I was but now you're scaring me. What's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing's the matter, John," Sherlock said. "See? Working so much is obviously stressing you out. I'm just having a chat over dinner, I just wanted to make sure you were relaxed after working so hard all day. You need to unwind. That's all, okay?" He looked over and gave him a little smile.

"But I am relaxed. I'm relaxed but now also worried about you," John said as he finished his meal.

"See? That's the problem -- you always worry about everyone else. It's stressing you out and it's also . . . annoying," Sherlock said. "I suppose you'll claim that it's only because you're so nice, but the more you go on, I am beginning to think you've got some control issues. This conversation has been about my concern for you -- now you've hijacked into being about your concern for me. Control issues." He stood up and turned on the kettle before putting his plate in the sink.

"I do not have control issues," John said. "I acknowledged your concern, addressed it, and voiced my own. Normal and relaxed," he insisted.

"Good," Sherlock said. "We're both normal and relaxed." He took John's empty plate to the sink, before pouring the tea and bringing the mugs over to the table. They sat quietly for a few minutes, just sipping their tea. Then Sherlock said, "John . . . I had an idea earlier. . ."

John looked over at him and wondered if it had anything to do with their odd conversation. "Oh?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "It was motivated by purely selfless concern, of course, but I devised a little . . . experiment -- not about a case unfortunately, it's really just . . . well, it might be helpful for the future of mankind, I guess. I was wondering if you'd be interested in helping me with it ."

"The future of mankind?" John asked. "Uh, sure. You know I don't mind helping."

"It's all ready to go if you'd like to start right away," Sherlock said, standing up. "It's in my bedroom."

John stood as well and nodded. "Sure. I mean . . . as it's for all of mankind, we should be hasty," he smiled.

"I'll need to you lie on the bed, I think," Sherlock said casually as they walked into his room. He stood at the foot of the bed. "Before we start, though, I need to ask -- do you trust me, John?" 

John was half way down when he paused on his elbows and looked at Sherlock. He felt a spike of nerves, of anticipation building in his chest. "You know I do," he said.

"Good," Sherlock said, walking over to the side of the bed. "Could I ask you to lift your arms up for me? Give yourself a little stretch, you know, to shake off the day and focus on what's happening now." When John lifted his arms, Sherlock grabbed a hold of one of his wrists and held it tightly, just looking down at John for a moment.

John met Sherlock's gaze, keeping the other arm up as well even though Sherlock wasn't holding it. His mind was racing but he stayed quiet, waiting.

"You spend a lot of the day sitting, John," Sherlock said calmly. "Your body's all hunched up. It's good to stretch out a little. Let me help you." He slid the belt from his dressing gown and secured John's wrist to the bedpost. "See? It feels good to stretch," he said. He took a pair of handcuffs out of the nightstand and walked to the other side of the bed. He grabbed John's right wrist and asked, "Should we stretch this arm as well?"

John pulled at the tie lightly before nodding. "That's a good idea . . .I don't want to get asymmetrically sore," he said, trying to sound casual about it all. This was different. It was more. He looked at Sherlock's face as he was cuffed to the headboard.

"Excellent thinking," Sherlock said. "See how useful you are to my experiments?" He moved down to the foot of the bed. "Take a deep breath to relax," he instructed. "Actually," he added, crawling up onto the bed over John's legs. "Let's stretch your legs out as well." He quickly undid John's trousers and slid them off, leaving just his pants. He placed his hands on the top of one of John's thighs, rubbing down his leg as he pulled it a little to the side. Then he did the same with John's other leg, slowly massaging the thigh muscle before letting his fingers wrap around John's calf to pull that leg away from the other. He stood up again and looked at John. "Shall I explain the procedure now?" he asked.

John was already starting to get hard. He couldn't help it. Sherlock's hands were like something he hadn't known he was missing all his life. "Yes," he nodded, meeting his gaze again.

"The research question is: Can people with control issues benefit from having their control taken away. You, Subject A, have control issues -- whether you use them for good or evil is irrelevant, you've got them, that's been established. What we're investigating is if giving away control can actually stimulate a positive response in the subject," Sherlock explained. "Now as I've forgotten to have you sign a release form, I should probably clarify that -- legally -- should you at any time wish the experiment to end, you just need to say so." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Otherwise, the researcher -- in this case, me -- is the one in control." He looked up at John to see his reaction.

John nodded. "Okay. I'll make sure to keep that in mind," he said.

"It might help if you say it, actually," Sherlock said. "Could you say 'You're the one in control, Sherlock' just so all participants are clear on the premise of the experiment?" As he spoke he slipped his dressing gown from his shoulders and let it fall onto the floor.

John opened his mouth and closed it again, his eyes trailing along Sherlock's body with the robe. "Um . . . well, we're the only two here and we understand," he said.

"Say it, John," Sherlock said, slipping his t-shirt over his head and throwing that to the floor as well.

John licked his lips and tugged at his cuffed hand so it rattled. "It's obvious," he said, still avoiding it. He couldn't help seeing this like a game, and he wanted to test his limits.

Sherlock loosened the tie on his pajama bottoms. "I don't think it is," Sherlock said. "I've just asked you to do something and you are refusing. Clearly, your control issues may inhibit the success of this experiment." He stepped back slightly before reaching down to start to re-tie his pajamas.

"Don't," John said quickly, watching Sherlock's stilled fingers. "You're in charge," he said. "You're in control, Sherlock," he corrected quickly.

"All right," Sherlock said. "I think we're ready to properly begin." He stepped a little closer to the foot of the bed and held John's gaze. He rubbed his hands lightly over his own chest, slowing them as his fingertips moved over each nipple. He let his eyes close slowly and then opened them again, still looking directly at John. Then he stepped back, moving towards the large comfy chair in the corner of the room. Before sitting down, though, he turned the chair around, so that when he sat, John could not see him. He moved around a bit and made a few noises -- in truth, he found all this quite arousing, but he wasn't actually masturbating, though that's what he hoped John would think he was doing. He let his left hand fall over the arm chair and grip at the side. "Now that I know my best friend's a voyeur," he said, his voice a bit raspy. "I'm less judgmental, I think. I kind of wish you could see me right now."

John lifted his head but it didn't help. He pulled at his ties and started trying to shift, twisting his legs. "Sherlock . . ." he whined softly, closing his eyes to at least imagine it.

"I mean, I can see what's going on and it's really doing nothing for me," Sherlock said. "But knowing how much you like to watch . . . do you want me to turn the chair around so you can watch?"

"Yes," John said immediately, any pretense of testing boundaries gone. He was wanted to look, to touch, to be touched.

"Before I do, though, John, can I ask, do you have an erection?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," he answered honestly. What had started when Sherlock tied him up was now bulging his pants against his thigh.

"And would you say it's a positive response? Not all erections are, of course, some are awkward, some are painful . . . what I'm asking is are you having a positive response to what's happening?"

"Yes, Sherlock . . .please," John sighed, laying his head flat. His neck hurt and he still couldn't see anything.

"And if I turned this chair around and let you watch what I'm doing, would that benefit your response?" he asked, silently smiling as he moved his arm a bit more frantically.

"Yes. And if you came to bed, even more. And if you touched me."

Sherlock stopped moving and stood up. "I'm afraid those things aren't going to happen, John," he said. "I'm not in the mood for those things and, as you know, I'm the one in control." He paced around the room a little, occasionally making a little humming sound. Then he sat down on the bed, not too close to John. He looked down at John's erection, straining through his pants. "Is it aching?" he asked softly.

"A little," John said, pulling the ties again.

"Aching painfully or . . . in a good way?" Sherlock asked, moving his hand to hover over John's cock.

"In a good way," he said, arching his hips up to force contact. He looked at Sherlock's face when he did.

Sherlock pulled his hand back and stood up, walking away from the bed again. "You've been on this bed with an erection before," Sherlock asked. "My hypothesis was that not having control would be more pleasurable that previous times -- that's what we were testing -- but I guess we'll never know since you appear to be are unable or willing to complete the experiment." He moved over and stood by the chair.

"I didn't mean to," John said quickly. "Sherlock, I just . . ." he sighed heavily. "I won't do it again. Come on, what else did you have planned?"

Sherlock looked over at John and then he sprang from the corner moving quickly on to the bed, positioning himself between John's legs. He slid his hands along the inside of John's thighs, all the way up until his fingertips touched the edge of his pants and then he pushed John's legs apart. "I'm in control of this, John," he said a little sternly as he looked up at him. "The fact is, right now -- I control you." He kept his hands where they were, maintaining the pressure on John's thighs. "Do you like that fact?" he asked, letting his eyes move up John's arms to his wrists and then back down to his face. "Do you like it even if you wish you didn't? Answer me."

John gasped and moaned as Sherlock spread his legs like that, his hands so close. "Yes," he murmured. "I like it when you control me . . ."

"It's all right, John," Sherlock said, his voice softer now. "It's all right." He released the pressure on John's thighs. "Because you know you can trust me, and, as I said at dinner, I'm concerned about you. You work hard to help people, John. I want to help you now," Sherlock purred. "I want to help." He lowered his face and pressed it against the material of John's pants, rubbing his cheek up and down John's length.

"Please . . ." John mumbled.

Sherlock lifted his head, moving so his mouth touched the warm skin above John's waistband. He paused for a moment, then slid a hand inside John's pants and pulled out his cock. "I'm going to put my mouth on it," he said firmly, pausing again, just in case John didn't really want to cross this line. "Am I still in control?" he whispered.

"Yes," John said breathlessly and he took a deep breath to steady himself. Was this still experimenting? It felt like a line that might be hard to come back from. He still didn't know quite what was going on between them these days, though at the moment, it was hard to care.

Sherlock swallowed John down, taking him straight into his throat before dragging his lips back up his cock. He began an up and down rhythm quickly. His own cock was hard now, but he kept his body pressed against the bed.

"Fuck," John gasped, pulling hard at the restraints. "Sherlock -- Jesus," he moaned. He was very good at that. Very, very good.

Sherlock lifted his head. "Come, John, come," he said, swallowing him down again. He gripped John at the base, stroking what he didn't take inside.

John pulled on the restraints again as he let go, coming into Sherlock's mouth. He had never expected it. It was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen before his head fell back on the bed again. He was panting, his arms slack.

Sherlock stayed still, trying to calm himself. When his breath felt more under control, he lifted his head, swiping his hand over his mouth. He got up from the bed, turning his back towards John. He grabbed his t-shirt and slid it on before slipping his dressing gown on as well. He moved towards the bed, freeing John's wrists. "Sleep in here, yeah?" he asked, budging John over a bit to get into the bed.

"Do you want me to do anything?" John asked, turning to get comfortable on his side.

"Write up our notes tomorrow," Sherlock said. "We learned a lot this evening -- one day we can share our results and change the world." He turned off the lamp. He leaned over and tapped John's arm lightly, before curling up for sleep.


	5. The Toys Idea

Sherlock had been feeling a little odd the past few days. He didn't think he was ill -- he just felt . . . odd, like things were off balance. He was tired of it really, so this morning when John got up for work, Sherlock got up as well, determined to get himself back to normal.

He started with a long bath, which actually helped. The hot water relaxed his muscles, and he let his hand move lazily through the water, his fingertips grazing his thigh. Suddenly, he realised he was thinking about his last experiment with John.

It had been different to the previous ones obviously -- it felt a bit more intense because of the things they'd each said. And, of course, because of the thing that Sherlock had done. Previously it had all seemed kind of silly -- less like sex, even though touching and orgasms had been involved. What Sherlock had done to John was a sex act. That fact made Sherlock smile a little -- John Watson let a man commit a sex act upon his person. When he got out of the bath, he might send John a text to tease him about that.

But then he started to worry a little. John had always been so adamant about not being gay -- had what happened between them freaked John out? Sherlock hoped not. The experiments were only meant to be a bit of a fun really. It seemed like John had been having fun as well, but what if he regretted it all now? He'd have said something, right? After all, John had said he trusted Sherlock. If he trusted him with his body, surely he'd trust him with his feelings. Sherlock thought that must be true. Feelings were still a bit confusing to him, but he couldn't deny that John's presence had brought feelings into the flat and into Sherlock's life.

Maybe from now on, he should try to incorporate feelings into the experiments. That thought made him sit up in the water. It implied that the experiments were going to keep happening. The other ones had kind of been spur of the moment, things that had flashed in Sherlock's mind, which he then put into action once John got home. Was Sherlock now planning? Had the experiments just become part of their lives now -- they ate dinner together, they solved cases together, and they had orgasms together? 

Except they didn't have orgasms together. They had the first two times, but during the last two, Sherlock hadn't come -- he had been aroused, but mostly he'd only used that information to mess with John's head. Is that why John was freaking out? Did it bother John that Sherlock held that back, especially when he'd pushed John so hard to let go?  
  
Well, that could be easily remedied.

Sherlock got out of the bath, quickly drying off, and getting dressed. He did a little research on the computer and then headed out, not returning to the flat until he had exactly what he needed. He went into his room and spread his purchases out on the foot of the bed. He stripped himself of his clothes, putting on a clean pair of pajamas, and then checked the clock -- John should be coming home soon.

_When you get in, please make yourself comfortable and then come see me in my room. SH_

Sherlock lay down on the bed, smiling as he waited.

John had been thinking about the last experiment a lot -- a lot more that the other ones they had been doing so far. This one wasn't just about the orgasm, it was about the pleasure getting there. Sherlock had the control. He could have just used his hand to finish John off and record his notes. But he didn't use his hand. He used his mouth. John still flushed when he thought about it. Not because Sherlock was a man, but because he was Sherlock. When John was in the army, in the early days, he'd participated in blow jobs. Sherlock didn't know that, of course. John had never had proper sex with a man before, though, and the way these experiments were changing, he wondered if it was only a matter of time. He wasn't precisely sure what to make of that thought.

When he heard his phone buzz against the desk, he took a deep breath before checking it. He smiled. 

_Okay. But it's packed so I will be home in a couple hours. -JW_

_Hurry. I had an idea. SH_

Sherlock didn't want to wait a couple hours, though actually thinking about what was going to happen, he realised, was something he quite enjoyed. He got up from the bed and moved to the sofa, lying down there instead. He thought about what he and John had done -- not what it meant, he wasn't sure what it meant or if it meant anything at all and besides that was much less interesting to think about. He thought about they'd done and what they were going to do once John got home.

John finished up his work and headed home, looking to see if Sherlock had texted again. He hadn't, which made John even more curious as to what he had planned. When he walked in, he didn't call out right away, hanging his coat and drinking some water. "Sherlock?" he finally said.

Sherlock had moved back to his bedroom. "There are some things in here I'd like you to take a look at," he called without getting up.

John put his glass down and moved into the room, pausing at the door. He blinked at the end of the bed, which was littered with sex toys. His heart raced. "Sherlock --" he started.

"What's in your head, John?" Sherlock asked. "Say quickly -- don't over think it."

"I'm nervous," John said, because he was. He'd never used anything like this before, and the thought made him anxious.

"Don't be," Sherlock said. "They're not for you." He undid the belt on his dressing gown and opened it a bit. "All I'd like you to do is . . . help." He watched John's face closely.

"Help?" John repeated, moving more into the room. 

"Yes," Sherlock said, still watching him. "Today's experiment is about something different, and I just need your help with the notes. That's all -- you're not the test subject, so there's no pressure. I just need to collect some information and I'm worried I can't do the experiment and remember the data on my own." He slid a hand down his body and rested it on his lap. "So, will you help?"

John blinked at him for a few more seconds before nodding. "I -- yes, I will help," he said, moving to the bed now. "Tell me what you have here. For the record," he added. 

"Well, they're quite different types of . . . tools, I suppose, so I'd like to examine the different responses they provoke. This would include arousal -- which I can gauge, of course, but I'd like to also examine the other physical reactions -- things like perspiration level, skin colour changes . . . sounds . . . do you think you'll be able to keep an eye on those things for me?" He sat up a little and picked up the smallest toy. "I thought this would be good to start with," he said, lying back down again. "Can you see from there?" he asked, untying his pajama bottoms.

John nodded, watching the toy in Sherlock's hand. "I can see," he said. "I'll try to pay attention."

Sherlock reached into his pajamas and held his cock for a few moments. He closed his eyes and imagined John there, watching, until he remembered that John was there watching, so he opened his eyes again. John's presence made a difference, Sherlock noted. It made it more exciting. He slid the vibrator into his pajamas and held it against his cock. "It's cold," he said quietly. "And not particularly arousing."

John watched closely and longed to move his pajamas out of the way for a better look. "I'll make a note of that," he said.

"As you can probably tell, I'm getting an erection," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "But my hand's mostly responsible for that." He used his thumb to turn on the toy. The vibrations were stronger than he'd expected so it kind of slipped from his fingers. "Too much, I think," he said kind of stupidly. He let the toy rest near his hip. He moved his hand back to his cock, but let his wrist stay on the toy. "That's better," he said. "It's still just my hand but it's . . . different." He let his eyes close for a moment. "Have you ever tried one of these, a vibrator, I mean?" he asked casually.

"Not on myself," John said softly. He didn't want to talk about that right now. "Try it just under you hip bone," he suggested.

Sherlock shifted the vibrator lower. It felt quite nice there. "Yeah," he mumbled. "That . . . works." He lifted his other hand to slowly stroke his cock for a few moments. Then he pushed the vibrator lower. He fiddled with it, trying to slow the speed again. He pressed it at the spot where his leg meets his body. He made a small moan without really meaning to and wiggled his legs a bit. "John . . ." he said quietly. "I think I need to take off my pajamas."

"Okay," John said. After a second, when he saw that Sherlock couldn't, he reached up and pulled them down for him, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's cock.

"I think I need my shirt off as well," Sherlock mumbled, dropping the toy and pulling his shirt over his head. He settled back down and pressed the toy between his legs again. "Is my face flushed?" he asked.

"Yes," John said, glancing up for just a moment. "Flushed. Very sexy."

"Just facts, please, no commentary," Sherlock said, giving a little smile. He moved the vibrator closer to his hole. "I need . . ." Sherlock said suddenly, realising that his voice was a bit raspy. "Let's try another one . . . the blue one." He looked down and kind of nodded towards the toys.

John looked at the assortment and handed Sherlock the blue one.

"It needs lube, John," Sherlock said, a little impatiently as he pushed it back to him. "It's going to go _inside_." He continued to stroke his cock as he said, "There's lube there -- get it slick, okay?"

"In -- oh," John mumbled stupidly. He grabbed the lube and poured a bit on the toy, stroking it slowly. He felt his own face flush a little.

Sherlock watched John's hand slide over the toy. "That's good," he mumbled as he moved his own hand in the same rhythm. When John handed him the toy, he lowered it between his legs and lined up the tip. He relaxed his body and pushed it in softly, making a small gasp. It'd been a long time since he'd had this feeling. He pushed it a little further in and let out a small moan.

John couldn't move his eyes away from Sherlock and what he was doing. Had he prepared before? Did he need to? Had he started before John got home? How often did he do this? Suddenly his brain short circuited. That moan -- it brought John right back to what was going on, and he realised he was heavily palming himself. "Sherlock . . ."

Sherlock's eyes were closed. "John," he said huskily. "It's too . . . difficult to manoeuvre. Can you . . . push it the rest of the way in? It's not very long . . . just help, okay?"

"I . . .yes," John breathed. He reached out slowly and placed two fingers on the end, pushing gently and watching as the toy went all the way in.

Sherlock took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He opened his eyes and cleared his throat a little. He slowed his hand on his cock as he let his body adjust. "Let's pause for a moment," he said carefully. "The vibrations were interesting but more of a novelty. This . . . feels good, well, that's not an entirely useful word. I feel . . . filled -- it's increased the arousal and the pleasure of my hand." He was still stroking his cock slowly. "What reactions are you noticing? Tell me."

"Um . . .you're even more flushed and your voice sounds deeper and . . .and you look full," John listed, still looking down at the toy inside Sherlock. He rubbed at his own cock. 

"Yes, I . . . I've just noticed something," Sherlock said. "I've got a different feeling now. I need . . . more." He turned his head to the side to look down at the end of the bed. "I need . . . the other one, the bigger one. Use the lube, and help me . . ." He tightened his grip on his cock and sped up his stroke. "Come on, hurry . . ."

John took the new toy and lubed it quickly. Swallowing hard, he pulled the blue toy out and pushed the new one in.

"Fuck," Sherlock called out as John pushed the bigger one in. He reached down and grabbed John's wrist. "No, John . . . I still need more from you. I need . . . movement," he said softly. "I sound desperate, John, because I am." He moved his hand back to his cock. His other hand he buried in his hair before gripping the pillow behind his head. He let his hips begin to rock. "Please. . . " he whispered.

"All right," John said softly, moving the toy in and out steadily. He felt the tightness, the hold Sherlock had on it.

Sherlock started to feel himself letting go -- his hand moved fast and hard on his cock and his hips pushed against the toy and John's movement. "Fuck, don't stop, John -- this is . . . too much," he panted. "I'm going to --" he called too late. His body arched up as his cock jerked and sprayed over his hand. He coughed out a few times, feeling all his muscles pulse, including around the toy. "Fuck," he exhaled as he dropped back flat against the bed to try to catch his breath.

John couldn't stop watching, moaning softly as Sherlock tried to pull the toy further into his body. He was gorgeous. It was all so fucking gorgeous.

Once Sherlock felt more under control, he reached down and pulled up his pajama bottoms. He slid his hand inside and awkwardly pulled out the toy, dropping it onto the bed next to the others, before scooping them all up in his t-shirt and setting the package on the floor. He dragged himself back to the bed, climbing in and mumbling, "Let's go to sleep now."

"Sleep," John nodded, moving to get into the bed properly. "Good idea. I'll get the notes together tomorrow," he said. He curled up and palmed softly at himself, trying to ignore it.

Sherlock reached over and turned out the lamp, lying back down facing away from the other side of the bed. He listened to John's breathing for a few moments. "Go ahead and wank, John," he said softly. "You'll never get to sleep like that." He reached over to the drawer and pulled out some lube which he tossed over to John.

"I-I'll be fine," John insisted, although he found he was still holding himself. It wouldn't take too long if he did it . . . so he brought the lube close and kicked off his trousers, pushing his hand into his pants to do it properly.

Sherlock listened to what John was doing. He turned over and moved closer to him, almost spooning him. He didn't say anything, just pressed his face against John's shoulder blades.

John closed his eyes at Sherlock's touch. His hand moved faster, pushing his pants out of the way now. "Sherlock . . ."

Sherlock just stayed quietly behind John, listening to what was happening. There was a niceness to it, a comfort, being together in this way that he decided not to analyse but instead just to enjoy.

John closed his eyes again and imagined Sherlock's hand coming around, not to touch him, but to hold him close. His own hand moved faster as he imagined sleeping in Sherlock's room every night being spooned by him, imagined them trying more, imagined himself trying new things. He shuddered and came into his hand, moaning Sherlock's name.

"I'm here," Sherlock whispered.

"Don't -- don't move away," John mumbled as he tried to catch his breath and clean up.

Sherlock pressed his mouth against John's back and said, "I don't intend to." He lay his head on the edge of John's pillow to let sleep take him.


	6. The Mirror Idea

Sherlock had spent the last couple hours with his brother so naturally he was incredibly irritated. What he really needed was for John to help with that irritation -- either by listening to Sherlock complain or perhaps even by allowing Sherlock to express some of his irritation by yelling at John for completely irrelevant reasons. As he walked up the stairs to the flat, Sherlock realised that was not really fair at all, but he was too irritated at the moment to consider other options. If he ended up behaving like a spoiled brat tonight, he'd try to remember to apologise tomorrow.

He opened the door, but John was not waiting for him in the sitting room. That was irritating. He moved over to the kitchen and touched the kettle. It was cold. Also irritating. He clicked it on and then turned, looking up at John's bedroom door and shouting his name.

John heard the shouting and looked towards the door. He had been thinking about Sherlock and the things they'd be doing together. He'd decided that Sherlock wasn't the only one that could come up with ideas. He looked at the mirror on the cupboard door. He shut it half way and headed down. "What are you shouting about?"

Sherlock looked over at John. He was about to shout, but instead he stopped. It crossed his mind to say that he needed attention, because that what was he needed and attention from John always helped. But he knew it'd be out of character to acknowledge an emotional need aloud, so not only did he not say it, he decided to pretend he hadn't even thought it. Instead he said, "What were you doing up there?"

John glanced up to his room. "I had an idea . . . for an experiment," he chose his words carefully. "Why were you shouting?" he asked again.

"Because he irritated me," Sherlock said dismissively. "What's this experiment then? What's going on?"

John accepted that Sherlock wasn't go to say any more about that so he just moved on with his own plan. "Have you ever seen your own face when you come?" Sherlock was very handsome, and John couldn't help watching Sherlock's face lost in pleasure. He'd been thinking about it since that night with the toys and wondered if Sherlock had ever seen it himself.

"What?" Sherlock asked. That seemed to come out of the blue. "What . . . where did you come up with this idea?" Sherlock wondered if this was some kind of trick -- some weird payback for going too far with his experiments.

"I was just looking at the mirror upstairs and I was thinking about how sexy you look," he said, watching him closely.

"What?" Sherlock asked again. He was a bit thrown off, trying to process exactly what was happening here. He stupidly looked down at himself and then back at John. "What are you talking about? I don't look sexy."

"You do when you come," John said.  He reached out to touch Sherlock's arm. "I want to see it and I want you to see it."

Sherlock's face flushed. "You've already seen it," he said, pulling his arm back a little. What exactly was John doing? Sherlock was the one who was came up with experiments -- not John. "Anyway, you said experiment but it sounds like this is just your voyeurism again . . ."

"Maybe I just want to see it again," John said. "But more importantly, I want you to see it."

"To what purpose, John?" Sherlock asked. "If this is some kind of trick . . .well, is it a trick?"

"It's not a trick. Look, fine, I won't even come in the room with you. You can just wank in front of the mirror, promise to watch yourself, and see if the sight of it arouses you. I think it will. That's my hypothesis," he added, hoping to win Sherlock over with a slightly scientific word.

"Are you trying to prove I'm a voyeur as well? Because voyeurism is about watching strangers and I'm not a stranger," Sherlock said. In all honesty, there was something kind of intriguing about the idea, or rather the fact that John had come up with the idea.

"I know," John said. "I'm not trying to prove that. I'm just trying to . . . it's just exactly what I said, I want to see if you think it's sexy."

"It doesn't sound very sexy to me," Sherlock said. "Are you sure this has nothing to do with you -- if you just want to think about me wanking, go ahead and think about it. I don't care." Oddly, Sherlock actually felt a little urge to wank, but he didn't dwell on it, sure it would pass.

"Look, I do your experiments all the time," John pointed out. He was annoyed that Sherlock was giving him so much trouble. "Fine, if you can't handle my idea, just forget it."

"God, John," Sherlock exhaled. Why was John so good at guilt trips? When other people tried them, he was never bothered, but there was something about John's which always got to Sherlock. "Fine, I'll do it. I will do it, and I'll watch myself, just as you suggest. And if it is not the fucking sexiest thing I've ever seen, you will owe me four thousand pounds. Deal?"

John grinned. "Deal. Let's go to my room this time," he said, leading the way up.

"All right," Sherlock said, still a bit suspicious but possibly a bit curious as well. He followed John to his room.

"I moved the chair in front of the mirror on the door so you can sit and be comfortable. I have lube and tissues," he said.

Sherlock looked around at the set up. "All right," Sherlock said. "Get out now," he added.

John nodded and stepped into the hall, shutting the door and waiting outside of it. For experimental reasons.

Sherlock listened to John leave, but was relatively sure John was still within earshot. This actually made Sherlock smile as he saw it as yet more evidence of John's voyeuristic tendencies. It didn't bother him. He sat down in the chair and opened his trousers. He reached in and held his soft cock. He glanced up at the mirror, but thought he looked a bit stupid so he closed his eyes. He started to move his hand slowly, willing himself to get an erection so he could get this over with. But nothing happened. He pulled his hand out of his trousers and reached over for the lube, dribbling some into his palm. He reached in again and spread it over himself. His hand moved smoothly as he started a steady rhythm. Still nothing. He opened his eyes but avoided the mirror, glancing instead at the bottle of lube on the table next to the chair. He tried to read the label. Did that say cherry on it? Was John buying flavoured lube? Why? He pulled out his hand and reached over for the bottle. He struggled to get a grip on it before lifting it up to read the ingredients list. Then he set it back down and his eyes passed over the mirror. This wasn't working.

"John," he said. "I know you're outside the door. You can come in now."

John started a bit when Sherlock called out, but that's was silly because of course he would be listening in. He pushed open the door and came into the room, examining Sherlock. "You finished already?" he asked sceptically.

Sherlock knew he could lie if he wanted to -- John might not believe him, but probably wouldn't press the issue. But instead he said, "Sorry -- your little idea didn't work. I can't do it and I really did try."

John's brow furrowed. "You didn't even get an erection?" he asked. He couldn't help glancing at his open trousers.

Sherlock shook his head. "I did try," he said, trying to lift the bottle with his slippery fingers. "Look, I even tried the lube. Why do you have cherry flavoured lube?" he asked, staring at the bottle again.

"Tastes better when you do oral," he said. He moved around to the back of the chair and sighed softly. "So . . . that's it? You're giving up?" He was pouting like Sherlock always did.

Sherlock ignored John's questions, because he was thinking about the first thing John had said. Who was he 'doing oral' with? Was it a man? Sherlock had never been with a woman, but he wasn't sure why lube would be required in that situation. By now he'd forgotten what John's questions were. "What?" he asked.

"Maybe we could try something else," John murmured, rubbing Sherlock's arm lightly again.

"This was all your idea, John," Sherlock mumbled. His arm felt warm where John was touching him.

"Well, let me . . . help things along," he said softly. He moved his hand to Sherlock's chest and slowly slid it down over his torso to his open trousers.

Sherlock didn't say anything, but he did look up into the mirror to watch John touching him.

"See? You look handsome, your face slightly flushed," John said softly. He moved his hand into the open trousers, palming Sherlock through his pants.

Sherlock closed his eyes and concentrated on John's hand. He was getting hard now. What he couldn't do by himself, John was doing for him.

"Open your eyes and look," John whispered in Sherlock's ear. He pulled out his cock and watched it in the mirror as he stroked it slowly.

Sherlock did as John asked but didn't meet his eye in the mirror. Instead he watched John's hand stroking him. He felt his breath change a little and considered telling John to stop, but he didn't.

John moved his hand a bit faster, his lips still moving and whispering against Sherlock's ear. "Those cheekbones . . ." He pressed his mouth against the crest very softly. "And the sounds you make." He rubbed his thumb over the tip, watching Sherlock's face in the mirror. "I used to hate when you experimented on me, but now . . . I find myself looking forward to it."

Sherlock didn't really hear John and he still didn't look up at him, but he didn't take his eyes away from what was happening. He shifted his body a little, pushing down on his trousers to give John easier access.

John stroked all the way down to the base and back up. "You're hard now," he said, slightly pleased with the fact.

Sherlock was hard -- aching even, leaking over John's hand. He gripped the sides of the chair as he felt his hips rock against John's stroke. He was close. "John," he mumbled.

"I know . . . it feels good, doesn't it? Watch your face . . . look how sexy you are lost in pleasure."

Sherlock glanced quickly at his face. He wasn't sure he saw what John was describing, but he knew he was lost in pleasure and suddenly it was too much and his body tightened and then released that tension, jerking in the chair as he spilled over John's hand. His head dropped back and mumbled, "Oh god," as he reached down and gripped John's wrist.

John stroked Sherlock through his orgasm, still whispering in his ear. He was hard himself now. He kept his hand loosely around Sherlock's cock, keeping it there as Sherlock held his wrist.

Once Sherlock had gathered his breath, he mumbled, "So I suppose you're hard now after watching all that, what with you being a voyeur and all?" He smiled lightly when he caught John's eye in the mirror.

John held his reflection's gaze and smiled softly. "You caught me," he said.

"What do you want to do about it?" Sherlock said, moving a little to pull up his trousers.

"I'll be okay," John said. "This one was about you," he smiled.

Sherlock sat awkwardly in the chair, turning just a little to avoid the mirror. He looked at him for a second, not quite sure what to make of that comment. "Okay," he finally said. He stood up. "Thanks, I guess," he said as he moved towards the door.

"You can stay. I mean, you can sleep here if you want to," John said. It would be different, being in his room this time, but John realised he kind of liked the sleeping together part just as much as the other things.

"All right," Sherlock mumbled. He crawled into bed, curling up with his back to John. That had been an unusual experience, especially since it had been John's doing rather than Sherlock's, but he'd kind of liked it. He found it quite easy to fall asleep -- his earlier irritation now just a memory.

"Good night," John said softly as he climbed into bed. "Thank you," he added before he turned and closed his eyes. He listened to Sherlock's breath as he fell asleep.


	7. The Final Idea

Sherlock had spent the last three hours trying to get them a new case. This consisted first of scanning the comments section of John's blog, though that ended up just annoying him. He then moved onto harassing Lestrade via text and email before finally buckling down and contacting Mycroft for work. None of these options brought him any joy.

He flopped down on the sofa and realised what would really help now was an audience for his pouting. Not any audience, of course; he needed John. He reached for his phone.

_When will you be back? SH_

_I won't be much longer. It's slow today. Maybe an hour more. -JW_

Sherlock did not like this answer at all because he wanted to John to be here now to see his pouting. Instead he'd have to figure out how to fill the time. He tried to think of a new experiment for them to try, but no ideas were coming to him. He rolled over on the sofa and closed his eyes. Why had he started these little sexual experiments in the first place? What precisely was going on?

Since that first time, Sherlock had found himself thinking about sex more frequently and in ways that he hadn't for . . . well, forever really. Was he just using the experiments as an excuse to get sexual release? An admittedly pretty complicated way of wanting an orgasm, of course, but, in truth, Sherlock knew he wasn't very good at dealing with anything that wasn't immediately logical -- and feelings, including sexual ones, rarely seemed logical. So, even though he felt a bit stupid about it, it did kind of make sense. He sat up and realised that now that he knew what was really going on, he wouldn't have to involve John in any complex experiments. To get that release, all he needed to do was wank.

He got up and went into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He lay down on the bed and rested his hand on his lap. Now he saw that he had a problem: he didn't feel like wanking. He wanted the release, but wasn't inspired to do what needed to be done to get to it. This was stupid, he thought. He'd done it before, he'd even done it in front of John. There were no mirrors around to distract him, like last time. He'd just have to try harder. He pulled down the covers and got into bed. He hated being in bed with his clothes on so he took off his trousers and socks and spread his legs out a bit, taking up more than his side of the bed.

His side of the bed? That was an odd thing to think. This was his bed -- he didn't have a side of the bed, the whole bed was his.

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on getting an erection. Then he realised he was actually a bit annoyed -- why couldn't he just lie down and wank like a normal person? John did it all the time, obviously it was easy for him. He could even do it in the shower right before going to work -- John had never admitted it, but Sherlock knew what was going on. Suddenly Sherlock's cock jerked a little. He wrapped his fingers around it and started stroking, but then the feeling was gone. Until he imagined John in the shower again. Odd. It didn't matter, he told himself, it didn't matter what he had to think about it. If Sherlock's experiments had proved anything, they'd prove that all sorts of things can arouse people -- even unexpected things. Thinking of John was just an unexpected thing. So he decided to keep thinking of him.

He pictured John's nude body in the shower, the hot water moving down the lines of the muscles on his back. He pictured John's soapy hand moving over his chest and dropping between his legs. John's other hand moved to the wall, steadying his body, as he started to stroke himself. Sherlock was hard now. He quickly reached into the drawer and grabbed the lube, spilling it onto himself as he started to stroke in the same rhythm he imagined John using in the shower. And then the scene changed and Sherlock was in the shower with John and John was stroking him. Now the water was spilling over his body and the air between them was thick and wet and John was turning Sherlock around and pressing him against the wall and . . . 

Sherlock heard John come in the front door. He heard John call his name, asking where he was. He had a split second to decide what to do. He decided.

"John, I need you," Sherlock called. "Come help me."

John looked towards the bedroom and was no longer surprised to hear those words coming from in there. He was sure there was going to be another experiment, and a small part of him was worried there would be some form of payback for John taking over the experimenting last time.  
Sherlock hadn't been expecting it and, despite how well everything had turned out, he might still be upset about it.  
  
Of course there was another thing nagging at John as he slowly took his coat off and made his way towards Sherlock's room. He was starting to get feelings for him. All of the sex they were having, and of course all of the other things brilliant about Sherlock, it was all making John fall for him. Experimenting just seemed cruel now because it wasn't enough, and he couldn't pretend that it was. He would have to come clean and hope that maybe Sherlock felt the same way. He had to feel something -- surely, he felt something because these experiments didn't have that cold air that came with Sherlock's tests on toxins and mould.  
  
He pushed the door open, ready to start his say when he froze, catching Sherlock mid wank. "I . . . Sherlock, I . . . we need to talk," he stammered as he stepped in, closing the door behind him.

"No talking, John," Sherlock said. "Just come get on top of me," he added as if he were simply asking John to pass him a pen.

"But I -- it's important," John said weakly, already pushing off his trousers and working on unbuttoning his shirt. He was standing at the end of the bed, his eyes moving over every wonderfully exposed inch.

"Yes, fine, okay just . . . hurry up and get on top of me," Sherlock said quickly. His hand was still moving lazily on his cock. "And," he added a little more softly. "I'm probably going to want kissing this time."

Then Sherlock reached for John's arm to pull him down on top of him. "It's not an experiment, John," he whispered, both hands now roaming over John's back. "I want to be with you. I want to have sex with you -- there's no experiment, no trick -- I want to come and make you come. I just want . . . to be with you." His hands slid up into John's hair. "Let's not talk, John. Can we kiss instead?" he asked, looking into John's eyes.

John's whole body, every nerve in him, lit up on fire. He only managed a quick nod before his mouth was on Sherlock's, kissing him hard and a bit sloppy with need. How had they not kissed before now? It was incredible. His hips were already rolling against Sherlock, his pants forgotten.

Sherlock tipped John's head to deepen the kiss before pulling back a little and smiling. "That was good," he laughed. "Why did you never suggest it before?" He kissed him again as his hands slid to John's hips and pressed them against his own as he rocked on the bed.

John grinned into the kiss as he tried to respond, but speaking wasn't as important as kissing Sherlock. He dipped to kiss his jaw and neck and shoulder, licking at his skin.

"John," Sherlock said softly. "I want you to do it to me. There are condoms and lube in the drawer. Don't be nervous -- use your fingers first and the rest . . . you'll know what to do. But I want . . . it's been a long time since I've wanted it but I do -- from you." He would understand if John said no, but he really didn't want him to. "I trust you," he added, because he did.

John kissed his mouth before lifting up to gaze down at him. "I am only a little nervous, but I want to do this with you too," he said. He kissed Sherlock again before reaching for the supplies, coming back between Sherlock's legs. He spread them and dripped the lube on Sherlock, massaging the muscle before slowly pushing his finger inside. 

"Yes," Sherlock called out. It was different to the toys, it was a million times better. "God, it feels so good . . . . because it's you, John, it's you. . ." he mumbled, covering his face with his hand as he tried to focus on his breathing.

When John's finger moved easily, he moved up to two fingers, adding a bit more lube so he could stretch them. He leaned over Sherlock and pressed kisses on his hips and lower belly. 

Sherlock reached down and touched John's hair before sliding his hand to his own cock and starting to stroke. "This is better than anything," he said softly. "Do you like it?"

"I do," John murmured against his skin, easing in a third finger and pumping them steadily. 

"Please," Sherlock said. "I'm ready . . . I feel like I've been waiting forever for this . . ."

"Okay," John said, kissing his hip one more time before getting up again and rolling the condom onto his cock. After just a bit more lube he leaned over Sherlock, kissed his mouth, and pushed into his body. It was amazing -- so tight and hot and . . . . amazing.

"Fuck," Sherlock exhaled. This too was different to the toys -- he felt fuller but more importantly he felt so intensely . . . connected to John. "You're my best friend," he mumbled stupidly. "This feels good . . . you feel good . . ." His hand stroked himself between their bodies.

"God, it's good," John moaned as he started moving faster.

Sherlock closed his eyes and sped up his stroke. "I'm close, John," he said. "You must know that . . . I'm so close . . ." but it was too late and suddenly he was overwhelmed by all the feelings in his body and even a few in his heart, and he came hard, his whole body tightening and then releasing. For a second, he was almost smothered by the pleasure -- all because of John.

John moaned loudly as he watched Sherlock, following soon afterwards. He slumped over his body after one of the most intense orgasms of his life. He kept murmuring Sherlock's name as he tried to breathe.

"Hearing my name means even more now," Sherlock said softly as he tried to catch his breath. He wrapped his arms around John, holding him tightly.

John buried into his neck, pressing a kiss there. "I wanted to tell you . . . I couldn't do experiments any more," he admitted.

Sherlock pulled his head back to try to see John's face. "But this? You said you wanted to do this . . ." he asked, hoping John hadn't felt pressured.

John nodded. "This was the reason. I wanted this instead," he confessed.

"I wanted this instead, too," Sherlock said. "I guess it just took me a while to realise." He wrapped his arms around John again. "Will you sleep here, please? I don't mean right now -- I know you just got home -- but I mean . . . from now on?" His voice was soft and insecure but honest.

John nodded, burying into the nape of his neck again. "I will," he said softly. He pressed another kiss there.

"That's the best idea I've had yet," Sherlock smiled. "Thank you . . . for everything, I mean."

John smiled into his neck and nodded. "Thank you too," he said softly. He was comfortable here, curled up with Sherlock. "Can you breathe okay? I don't want to move away," he murmured. 

"I feel good, John. Don't move," Sherlock said. "Just stay."


End file.
